In my dream, I hear the sounds of thunder. Growling, gnarling, teeth gnashing in a battle to ensure each has their own. Looting and hoarding. Sounds of terror and squeals of alarm. Intimidation and threats. Bodies slammed to the ground.
Awakened. The sounds continue; the smell is unbearable.
Is this our end?
No. It is puppies at play!
Ferocious cubs. Testing out their tiny voices and might on the early path to doghood.
Four Great Pyrenees puppies to be exact.
They invaded our home when their devoted mom had finally had enough of them. When she packed their bags, they were cute little fluff balls. Now they are growing like little monsters – consuming their enclosure – desperate to get out and play.
This is Adele’s litter.
Born in a field. Found by a good Samaritan. Frighteningly, taken to a shelter where the threats that lurk are as great as the elements and predators: diseases.
We whisked them away.
Jody, our leader, kept mama and her babies isolated and closely guarded for their first fragile weeks – protected against dogs and humans with their germy cargo. Life-saving protections.
They thrived.
They exceeded mom’s patience.
And they pushed the cuteness scale off the charts – along with their weights.
They are endlessly poopy, smelly, bundles of fur – so fat, they waddle and are easily tipped by the big dogs.
They are all being treated for icky poo…leaving a trail of sticky footprints wherever they wander…and a mountain of laundry.
Chaos reigns in our home.
My husband loves them dearly but has made clear: four puppies with liquid poo – too much for future reference! (As if!)
Soon, they will be well and ready to go home – and it will be quiet again.
For now, they are a welcome if exhausting diversion from the days’ news and a reminder of all that is still sweet, joyful, and filled with hilarity and tomorrow’s hopes.
And we could all use a little of that right now.
Gardens For Goldens 